


I Need A Favor

by AutumnPines



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Not quite hurt no comfort but it’s angsty, Other, Queerplatonic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnPines/pseuds/AutumnPines
Summary: It’s 1862, and Crowley has asked for holy water. Aziraphale refused, yet Crowley ended up getting it anyway.Now, as night falls, Crowley finds himself walking to a bookshop, hoping that this time, his ask for help will be answered.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	I Need A Favor

It was nearing dusk as Crowley walked through the streets, the sky slowly being overtaken by darkness, the vanishing soft orange lining the horizon being the only light left. 

In the far back of his mind, Crowley found himself relating to the sky, in a strange way. Everything felt like shit right now, and the demon’s mood was as dark as Hell. His only hope was rapidly diminishing in its prospect of helping him, and it would probably vanish completely in the next half hour or so. 

He didn’t...he didn’t _want_ to go. But somebody bumping into him swiftly reminded him why he had to. 

He just had to make it quick. Pop in, get help, ignore the stupid lecture that was surely going to happen, pop out, and maybe take a ridiculously long nap to help recover from the pure shitshow this day was. After draining several bottles of whatever alcoholic bottles that happened to be nearby, of course. Simple. Easy. 

And yet, despite the easy plan he’d formulated within ten seconds, Crowley couldn’t move up the steps when he finally arrived at the bookshop. He stared at the doors, silently asking for the angel to open them himself just so that he wouldn’t have to. However, no angel appeared, and no doors were helpfully opened for him.

‘Well, no shit,’ A dark, bitter voice snarled in Crowley’s mind, ‘He wouldn’t help before, why would he start now?’

Crowley inhaled, shoving the irritation down deeper where he couldn’t feel it. If this was even going to go remotely well, then anger was the last thing he needed to feel. 

Right. Right. Crowley took in one last deep breath before walking up the steps, using his elbow to open the door, a handy - _ha_ \- trick he learned earlier. The bell above the door ringed his arrival as he stepped inside, and despite the ice cold fear that was holding his heart hostage and threatening to make his limbs shake, Crowley couldn’t help but relax the slightest bit at the feeling of warmth and the sight of endless books filling the area. 

Hopefully, the angelic owner would be more receptive to his request than he was this morning.

That proved to not be the case when Crowley was left standing at the entrance in silence for several minutes. Even when a customer came inside, usually Aziraphale popped his head out from somewhere just to confirm to himself that an intruder had entered the building to steal away his books. Or he would shout that the shop was closed if he didn’t feel like it was worth getting up and away from whatever book he was absorbed in. 

Crowley’s mouth twisted, and he shifted in his place. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation to why the angel hadn’t acknowledged the door’s opening...but if the explanation was that Aziraphale _knew_ that Crowley had entered and decided to ignore him then…

Crowley swallowed back the sting. This wasn’t worth it. 

But he had to. _He had to._

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called out, walking just a bit further into the shop, eyes carefully scanning the area. 

“Oh, what do you want, Crowley?” A voice spoke from behind, and lo and behold, there the angel was. Aziraphale was gazing at him with resigned, yet hardened eyes, and looked like he would be crossing his arms if it weren’t for the book he held in his hands.

“I need a favor,” Crowley said thoughtlessly, and immediately felt the urge to slap his forehead when he realized what words he had spoken. 

Aziraphale’s eyes sharpened to ice. “Crowley, if you insist on continuing this - this _foolish_ endeavor then I suggest you lea-”

“No! No,” Crowley interrupted, “I didn’t mean - I wasn’t - just listen. Can you take these off?” He raised his hands, which were covered with wrappings he had clumsily put on earlier by using his teeth instead of fingers.

Aziraphale frowned, suspicious, but he stepped forward and with his free hand, tugged at the wrappings _way too bloody hard._ Pain jolted up his arms like lightning and Crowley wrenched himself backwards, hissing. _“Damn!”_

Aziraphale’s book dropped to the ground with a thump, yet the angel paid it no mind. “What’s wrong? Crowley?”

“You’ll see in a second,” Crowley muttered, waiting for the pain to fade as much as possible. It never truly went away; it became a low level burning at best. “If you could not _yank_ it this time, that would be great.” 

“Oh, I didn’t yank -” Aziraphale sighed, “My apologies.”

Crowley harrumphed and simply raised his hands again. Thankfully, the angel took the warning to heart and delicately began to pick off the wrappings. He stopped after Crowley’s hands kept flinching even under his carefulness. “Perhaps I could miracle them off?”

Crowley frowned, pondering on if using a holy miracle was a good idea on a problem that was, well… “Go for it.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the bandages vanished, revealing ugly red burns splattered all over Crowley’s hands and wrists. Crowley’s breath hitched as the burns began to sting as a result from the air hitting them, sensitive as they were. 

Aziraphale gasped sharply, eyes wide with horror. He choked out, “Crowley, what - what - I can sense _holy water_ coming from -” His voice became angry, “What did you _do?”_

Nothing as bad as the angel likely thought he’d done. He was storming through the streets, upset and irritated after the argument they had in the morning, and of course, _of course,_ just around a corner there was some priest preaching on a box, flinging about blessings and god damn holy water without a care in the world. 

Crowley knew he was lucky it was nothing more than the small amount of droplets it was. Any more than that and his limbs would be gone. Or he’d be a dead puddle on some random street surrounded by screaming people. Not a great way to go.

“I didn’t do anything!” Crowley snapped, “One of your side’s little priests was tossing about holy water on the streets while I was trying to get home!”

Aziraphale harrumphed, “Oh, really? Or were you trying to steal it from the poor priest? Or did you waltz into a church and swipe it from there?”

That hurt. More than it should have. Aziraphale thought he was lying, like he did multiple times before. Just one more jab on top of a whole list of pains from today.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley broke in, feeling more haggard and miserable than he had in years, “I didn’t come here to be lectured. Please, just help me.”  
  
The hard flint that was in Aziraphale’s eyes abruptly faded, and the angel’s expression softened into something like concern. “I...Of course, I’ll help you, you old serpent.” 

Crowley let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, relieved. At a gesture from the angel, he sat down on the couch and watched as Aziraphale disappeared into the bookshelves. For just a short minute, there was silence and a sense of calm. Crowley tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and listened to the quiet ticking of a clock that was by the wall, feeling a bit better. 

The quietness was broken as Aziraphale bustled back in, holding a medical kit. He put the kit down before dragging a chair close to the couch. “Now, I don’t believe I can fully heal your wounds, but I’ll do what I can and bandage what’s left.”

Crowley nodded and sat up, holding his hands out. Aziraphale’s own hands came to hover over them, and the demon hissed as the burns started to tingle and prick. Thankfully, the burns shrank a little and very small ones disappeared completely. 

The angel withdrew his hands and grabbed a roll of bandages from the kit. At Crowley’s nod, he proceeded to wrap the bandages around his fingers. Despite the angel’s gentleness, it _burned_ every second as the bandages were pressed down onto his wounds. Crowley had to constantly grit his teeth in an effort to stop himself from yanking his hands away. To distract himself, he tried counting all the books he could possibly see, occasionally glancing back at either his hands or Aziraphale’s face, which currently held a concerned look.

Just after Crowley counted book 66 and glanced to look at the angel’s face again, Aziraphale’s eyes flicked up to meet his own. There was an awkward pause, and then Aziraphale sighed and looked back down. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“Wot?”

“Don’t toy me, Crowley. Did you get any holy water? And please, do be honest.”

Crowley said tiredly, “No. No holy water.” At the angel’s raised eyebrows, his tone grew slightly aggressive. “Search through my whole flat if you wish, angel. Just don’t come back to me saying sorry after not finding anything.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Aziraphale responded quietly. “But, surely after this, you won’t attempt to get any?”

Crowley didn’t answer.

“Wh - Oh come on now, Crowley!” 

“You come on!” Crowley snapped, “I don’t know why you’re so bloody upset! S’not like I’m going to fling holy water about and do flips with it! Do you think I’m incapable of handling myself?”

Aziraphale protested, “No! But accidents exist! You could - you could trip, or drop it, or who knows what else!”

“I am not a toddler who’s learning how to move their limbs, angel,” Crowley sneered. 

Aziraphale threw his hands up. “I know that. However, that does not exempt you from mistakes or accidents!”

Crowley shook his head, snarling. “Well then, what would you rather? That I be dragged to Down There and tortured for eternity if I’m found out?” _Or they kill you, if you’re found out?_

“I would rather you didn’t _die,_ Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. 

“I’ll be as good as dead locked in Hell!”

“But you wouldn’t be - you wouldn’t - !” Aziraphale bit his lip and looked away, eyes shining bright with distress. Without another word, he continued to bandage what was left of Crowley’s right hand, his own hands now minutely trembling. 

Crowley felt flayed open. He was itching to bolt out the door, to get away from the angel’s teary eyes and heavy atmosphere. Bless it all, he knew that he shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have even tried asking for help this morning. Should’ve just gone to bed and sleep away this century. Maybe that’s what he’ll do after this was over.

Silence reigned once more, but far from being the peaceful kind. Crowley didn’t attempt resuming his count of the books. Instead, he glared at the ceiling, the holy burns now competing with the pain in his chest. Every once in a while, Aziraphale opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, but then one look at Crowley and his mouth would close, defeated. After he was done, Aziraphale put the bandages back in the kit and left to put them away. When he came back, Crowley was standing, ready to leave.

“Well, that was fun.” Crowley drawled tonelessly. “See you around, angel.”

A crease formed between the angel’s eyebrows. “You’re leaving?”

Crowley started walking towards the door in response.

“No, wait!” Aziraphale followed after him. Crowley paused and looked back at him, expression guarded and weary. The angel wringed his hands. “Crowley, I don’t want you to be caught by your superiors but holy water would - it would _destroy_ you. I can’t…I can’t give you it and then you...I _can’t_.” 

Crowley bit back his instinctive response and mulled the words over. Aziraphale wasn’t trying to be cruel, and he wasn’t being all righteous with him standing straight and tall and saying that a demon had no right to lay their grimy claws on something holy. Perhaps if it was something less dangerous, he would help. He thought of a reverse scenario, with Aziraphale and hellfire. 

Right.

Crowley looked up and met the angel’s gaze. “I understand.” 

He maybe had a better understanding of why the angel wouldn’t help, but regardless, he would get himself holy water one way or another. He turned around and walked to the doors, which opened for him via angelic miracle. Crowley waved his hand in thanks before leaving. 

Outside, the air was cool. The sky was totally black now, however, it was lit up by countless stars across the sky. Crowley gazed at them for a few moments, took in a deep breath, and walked his way home. 

Inside the bookshop, Aziraphale was left alone, staring at the closed doors.

“Mind how you go,” He murmured to the empty space.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m pondering on whether to write some sort of an epilogue or not (which would include 1941 and the church), but I’m pretty happy with the ending here so I’m not too sure yet. Hmmm.


End file.
